Punch Of Love
by The Unnamed One
Summary: Bella, 21, is in an abusive marriage. After three years of constant beatings, will she leave the man she thought she loved? OOC, dark, AH/AU
1. PROLOGUE: Addicted

**A/N:** I'm setting myself a personal challenge. I don't think it's going to work very well, but… well, we'll see, won't we?  
**Tasha's Personal Rules:**  
**1)** I shall _not_ allow myself to work on any other stories whilst this is still in progress. If the idea comes to my head, I must write it down and finish it later. I plan to be good and faithful to this story.  
**2)** I _will_ _not_ let this story exceed 14 chapters (excluding notes & prologue/epilogue). Speaking of chapters, I shall make certain that each chapter reaches or exceeds 8000 words (still excluding notes).  
**3) **I _will_ stick to the plot and make sure that something actually happens in each chapter, instead of writing random filler about the Brontës.  
**4) I **_**will**_** finish this story. I will. Nothing will stop me.**  
**Back to the A/N:** These rules now officially apply to anything I write. I shall be good. And maybe you could thank me with reviews? I'd love that, and I'll try very hard to get back to you.  
This story, on the whole, was thought up on my dog walk this morning, to the song _Face Down_ by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. Of course, I shan't name this story so because A- I don't like songfics that much, and B- There is already a story with similar themes called Face Down (which, by the way, is THE BEST. I love it. Seriously, check it out).  
**Summary:** Bella, 21, is in an abusive marriage. After three years of constant beatings, will she leave the man she thought she loved? Slightly OOC, dark, AH/AU  
**DISCLAIMER: I don't own **_**Twilight**_**. **_**Twilight**_** owns me.**

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**Prologue: Addicted  
**

Darkness was everywhere in that moment. It was a thick blanket, not over the room, but over my eyes—preventing me from seeing anything unless I held it directly in front of me, inches from my face. There was a silence to couple the darkness: a silence that seemed to ring on in my ears anyway. There was a chilling breeze that continuously changed direction and intensity, making me all the more fearful to move. The chill was cool was painful as it whipped though my nose and into my sinuses; I made an effort to ignore the putrid taste this air left on my tongue and breath through my mouth.

I was scared. There was no doubt it that statement; it was the most apt thing I'd heard in a while. I didn't know what was happening; I was crudely snatched from the deepest sleep I'd had in a while by a sharp slap on my face. I kept my eyes shut, but my breathing became shallower and faster, opposed to the deep, slow breaths I was most likely sneaking in my sleep.

There was a sting on my cheek, but the fear surging through my body was quickly overriding it. I knew who was doing this, but there was certainly a hope within me that he'd take pity on me this time. But, as soon as I had time to register that I had been dragged outside again for what was to come, another sharp smack pounded my other cheek.

I bit back a whimper as his skin cracked like a whip against mine. I tried to blink back the tears, but ended up only pushing them out further.

This of course, only angered him further. He grunted and pushed me up against the outside wall of our pokey little house, grasping tightly on my shoulders, increasing force with every breath I took. I was now silently sobbing, trying my very hardest not to show any more weakness.

When he kneed my stomach, I failed to keel over as I instinctively would have, as his body obstructed me. I tried to stifle the cry as it fought against my lips, threatening to force its way through. This seemed to please him, as he repeated the action.

I was only vaguely aware of the pounds I was receiving. Of course, I felt the surge of pain bolt through my body with every punch, every kick, but I tried as much as I could to focus past them, trusting his reasoning. It was stupid of me, really, not being ready for his return. He came home to me running around the house in a towel, having just stepped out of the shower, trying as hard as I might to fix up dinner for when he came home. Of course, due to the accidental sleep I'd drifted into during the shower, I was much, much too late. I should have known to prioritise. My food could wait.

I concentrated on the pounding of the blood in my ears rather than the cracks my ribs were making. I could hear—and feel—my blood pulse through my veins with every beat growing in intensity.

It wasn't long until I felt the familiar glaze of unconsciousness approach me again. I had learnt by now to keep silent until it was absolutely imperative; the state of being unconscious was one I'd rather induce myself, rather than being knocked into it. The resulting headache was always better that way.

"Baby, please…" I squeaked out, barely audible. I sucked in a breath through my haggard lungs, held it for a few seconds, before releasing it again. I barely had the ability to breath, let alone speak and beg for my much needed forgiveness—not that I really deserved it. It was my own fault this time; much like before, I had bought it on myself.

He continued to pull me away and back against the wall, making my shoulder blades push together and the pain to emancipate to the very tips of my fingers, right from the innermost core of my being.

Trying to not show weakness was a thing of the past now. He wouldn't enjoy seeing me suffer, surely? So if he knew what pain he was causing me, maybe he'd slow down?

Wrong.

There was a moment, and I'm not sure when, where he pushed my legs from beneath me. Of course, I was now only upright because of the firm grip he held on my shoulders, the grip that was sending knife-like shivers down my spine and sent an urgent message to my brain: _fight back! Fight back!_

But of course, I couldn't fight back. This man was everything to me. I tried to ignore the warnings my brain was radiating and let my eyes flutter open for the first time, focusing in on my Love's onyx eyes. I kept my body perfectly still until he noticed the direction of my gaze, which was some agonising time. Finally, he looked up at my pained expression, and locked eyes with me, as if just checking my state of consciousness. In what little light I had, his own eyes seemed to widen in… shock?

He stilled his saps then. As grateful as I was for the lack of abuse now, my skin seemed to prickle up into goose pimples and sharp daggers shot down my veins, bristling at the tips of my fingers.

His eyes bored into mine with an intensity of a thousand suns, seeming to liquefy before me—breaking from their stone glaze they were previously set in. His entire face softened; the sneer his lips were curled into had dissipated as quickly as it came, forming a small 'o' shape where they parted; his eyes, alongside the new fluidity, had opened out from their scrunched up form, together with the rest of his face, anger had turned to shock. His concentrated face smoothed out instantly, like he'd just realised something. Like he'd just woken up from a bad dream… Like he didn't know what he was doing.

I tried to force my words out as the veil of unconsciousness slipped over my eyes, blocking me off from his remorseful face.

"Jake… please…"

He loosened his grip, letting me fall to the floor and collapse into the painless world of dream.

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**A/N:** Okay, Prologue is obviously shorter than the rest. But what did you think? Please let me know whether or not you think I should continue. Reviews mean EVERYTHING.  
OH, and the song to the prologue is Addicted by Kelly Clarkson. Now, normally I'm not a huge fan of her, but I do like this song and I DO think it fits the chapter well.  
Over and out, Tasha.


	2. ONE: Eyes Watering

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**Chapter One: Eyes Watering**

Monday morning, I awoke with a start, lying in a pool of cold, blackened blood—my blood. I fluttered my eyelids open to the tiniest crack and looked around me, observing my quite chilly surroundings. Was it possible that I was still outside? The breeze that whipped across my skin was painfully telling me that yes, it was very possible indeed.

Bracing myself for the pain, I placed my palms flat on the cool ground and squeezed my eyes shut again (rendering the thought, if it gave me such a headache to close my eyes, how was I expected to survive anything else?). Pushing myself up, I could feel a throbbing in my left wrist and shoulder, and many of my surely cracked ribs. It'd seem that I had fallen down the stairs again…

I let out the tiniest of whimpers as I brought myself up to my feet. It was everything I could do not to let fresh tears replace the stains on my cheeks, as I wouldn't allow myself to blink and force the salted pity from my eyes.

When I found myself upright, I stood still for a moment, checking myself over. The fact that I had stood up without falling down once was both a godsend and a miracle. Looking at my jean-clad legs, I saw nothing out of the ordinary, just felt an immense pain every time I even considered moving them. Lifting my head to continue surveying the damage, I felt a stab of heat from just beneath my skin at the nape of my neck to the very base of my spine. Snapping my eyes shut, I prayed it wasn't anything too serious and tried to keep my breathing shallow, as to not cause too much stress to my aching back.

I wasn't even going to bother checking my wrist. I knew by now whether or not it was broken just by feeling it; it wasn't a hard decision to make. Quickly making up a story for how that happened when it came to the hospital visit I'd be making later, I glanced down at my shoulder, finding it swollen and reddened.

I sighed and pulled myself through the door frame and fell into the house. Glancing up at the clock, I was relieved to find that it was only six in the morning; Jacob would have already left for work. I had plenty of time to gather up a story and get the house and myself sorted out.

I began by walking upstairs, one by one, taking my time about it. I felt a jolt of pain with every step I took, each one sending me into its own world of fire and ice, battling to kill me in competitively awful ways. By the time I finally reached the landing, I let out a long held breath, revelling at the feeling bestowed upon me when I sucked in the long awaited breath.

Despite the pain, it did make me feel slightly better.

I felt a smile spread onto my face as I sighed in contentment. A breath that needed to be breathed, finally coming into fruition as I felt all the pain momentarily dissipate.

I limped into the bathroom, trying with a mighty effort to ignore the throbbing pain in my side—my potentially cracked ribs—and started to let the shower run. As the frosted glass door started to steam up even more, the room began to heat up. I felt the humid warm air brushing against my now bared skin, starting to make me feel slightly more human again. I felt pin pricks force their way to the surface of my skin, and push harder as the piping hot water finally made brutal contact with my skin. Finally, the blunt spikes melted through my skin effortlessly and dissipated into the air.

The knots in my muscles seemed to untie as I rested my weight on my numbing leg. Scrubbing furiously at my hair, ignoring the numerous stabs at my shoulder and wrist, I concentrated solely on the task at hand—not 'letting my mind wander', as every one in films and books seem to do. These people thought too much; it was almost painful for me to contemplate what I was doing too much.

Dressed and fed, I glanced at the clock: it was half past seven. I decided to take this opportune moment to tidy the house up from the endeavours that I had caused last night. Starting in the kitchen, I found a discarded uncooked tray of lasagne on the counter. Deciding that it had been there all night at room temperature, bacteria manifesting in the meat, I threw it away. Washing the dish, once again, I concentrated solely on the task in hand, not wanting to think about other things. Other things could haunt me; make me afraid of what could come.

After having sorted out the kitchen and wiping the patio of the blood that had congealed on the ground, I checked over my cover story and got into the car. The drive was as agonisingly long as before; I hadn't taken any painkillers this time, knowing that last time I did so I had an allergic reaction to an ingredient and spent a week in hospital because of it.

Arriving at the hospital, I limped to the desk in the ER. I told the receptionist about my 'accident' and took a seat after signing my name.

Now, I had nothing to do but sit… and think. This was possibly the most laborious part of the whole process: having nothing to concentrate on and only time to assure myself of the story. I tried to clear my head completely, closing my eyes and tilting my neck back slightly. With my eyes shut, I couldn't let my tears spill. My head filled with questions, some I was expecting; others, I didn't want to hear. Why had it happened—again? Surely Jacob had known by now that I understood these lessons; he knew I was human, ergo I made mistakes. But Jacob only did these things—these things that, though wretched, left me knowing my place and my lesson—because he loved me. He wanted me to be a good person, and he'd do that in any which way he could.

But as he loved me so, he suffered himself with the pain he inflicted on me: Jacob was hardly a sadist. I knew that, no matter how much he hurt me, he would undergo an equalling or possibly worse pain.

I eventually opened my eyes to a painful brightness, and smacked my lids shut again, savouring the darkened red tint. I felt disgusted with myself as I felt the cool breeze bush across my now tear-stained cheek. Never cry in public, I had always chided myself. I lifted my reddened wrist and roughly wiped away the moisture.

I spent the rest of the two-hour wait trying to organise my story and keeping it the same as before, and more importantly, keeping myself focused and calm.

"Isabella Swa—Bella, Bella, Bella…"

The familiar voice of the doctor snapped me out of my near-sleep state, and I forced my eyes open again. I limped over to Doctor Cullen, avoiding his crystal blue gaze. Passing him, and going straight into the consultation room, I caught a whiff of that all too familiar sterile environment.

Taking a seat on the bed, I watched as Dr Cullen shut the door behind him and shook his head slightly. "What did you do this time, Bella? Trip on a stray hair?" He chuckled inwardly at his own joke.

I shrugged—an action I regretted as the pain stabbed me in the back. "Fell down the stairs, again." I told him in the same joking tone and held up my broken wrist. "Broke my wrist."

"That explains that…" The doctor muttered, glancing at my swollen and reddened shoulder—very obvious in the vest t-shirt I was wearing—with furrowed brows.

Before he could question it, I explained, "Anyway, I went into the kitchen to get an icepack from the freezer; Jake must've left a bag open because peas spilled everywhere… As usual, I tripped on them and thwacked my shoulder on the counter."

I felt my throat close up slightly at the mere mention of his name, not wanting to have to discuss something other than the matter at hand. "I, um," I continued, "I don't know, but I think I sprained my ankle too. Although I'm not sure when that happened…"

Dr Cullen was trying extremely hard to stifle his laughter, finding my situation funny, as painful as it was. I simply nodded at him and stared at the yellowed skeleton as he exploded into an eruption of laughter. I continued to glare at the skeletal structure before me until my eyes ached from the deprivation of moisture.

Eventually, the supposed hilarity subsided as Dr Cullen took steady breaths—with a huge grin upon his face—and slowly calmed himself down. I simply moved my glare to him, "I know I'm a klutz," I lied. "But I am in pain."

His face soon masked over with seriousness. "Right, okay, let's get you patched up…"

After a quick examination and x-ray, Dr Cullen confirmed that I did break my wrist and that I'd dislocated my shoulder. He also told me that I'd torn some ligaments in my ankle… It turned out I was getting better at this self-diagnosis malarkey.

Dr Cullen escorted me to the unit where I waited for a further half hour, leaving me with a pillow to rest between my arm and ribs, propping my shoulder in place. The pain was still coursing through me, but I was trying to concentrate on other things. I grabbed a magazine from the table in the middle of the new waiting room, and eagerly read pointless articles, taking each word in, one by one, not really absorbing the story at all.

Eventually another nurse came through with a wheelchair in her hands, urging me to get into it. As much as I resisted, I was on the verge of falling to the floor when she sat the chair beneath me. Grimacing, I let her push me into another sterile smelling room where I underwent the rather laborious process of having the first cast applied to my wrist. The heavy plaster back slab was held on with only bandages and a sock thing (no matter how many times I was here, I never really bothered to learn the technical terms).

Next, I was sent to another room, one that I had been in before, where they finally gave me pain relief and they popped my shoulder back into place. I was extremely embarrassed when I had to remove my shirt, feeling exposed with my old yellowing bruises and scabbing cuts on show. I simply shrugged them off—not literally, of course—as a previous accident.

After wrapping my torso and shoulder in an awkward sling-come-wrap thing, the nurse helped me dress and sent me for another x-ray, checking if the whole reduction therapy worked.

Of course, when they discovered that I was just fine and dandy now, they were debating what I could do regarding the sprained ankle. Obviously, I didn't require a cast for the mildness of this sprain, so the let me go with just one crutch to use with my good arm. I threw my things into the back of the car seat and hopped around to the driver's seat.

Slamming my door shut, repressed feelings circled in my head, begging for conscious thought. I felt safe in my car; no one would watch me here, and if they did, it was perfectly normal for someone to cry in a hospital car park. People died here all the time. It was natural for people to cry here.

Tears slowly ebbed from my eyes, slipping down my cheeks and landing on my chest, trickling down my top until they eventually dissipated into the cloud of sorrow that seemed to surround me whenever I let myself go like this.

Exhaustion was not a strong enough word for what I felt. The shadows beneath my eyes must have been the deepest shade of purple I'd yet to face, and driving was not the safest option on the agenda. I opened the stiff window as wide as it would go (despite the rain) so that the breeze would keep me alert. Continually glancing at the clock, I felt that time crept backward whenever I wasn't looking. Traffic was mayhem as I attempted to meander my way through scattered cars.

The pain relief they had given me seemed to make me a little lightheaded. I found myself humming in my head and noting the singing burns. I was slowly slipping into a sense of euphoria, colours seeming to brighten and though the pain was spreading, it was weakening; like an elastic band, I could feel it thinning at the pressured points.

The drive home seemed unbearably long. There was still so much that I wanted to do before five o'clock, and it was already three-thirty-two: I had dinner to make, a shower to take, emails to check, bruises to cover, and more importantly, I had to prepare myself to grovel.

Finally, ten minutes later, I made my way through the front door of the house unstably with my crutch.

Nostalgia scratched over me, though I fended to claw meaninglessly at it.

I shook the memories from my head and hobbled to the kitchen, immediately turning on the oven. As I worked, I tried my very hardest to keep my mind on the task in hand—and only that task. I couldn't handle thinking about this.

But I had to.

Drops of watery angst threatened to expose me as the weak nothing that I was. The thoughts wouldn't escape me; they flooded my mind and replayed as if they were a terrifying nightmare that I couldn't flee from.

I saw images and clips replaying over in my head as if a needle was stuck on a record; the lashes and the slashes, the wobbling and the weakening—I was slowly falling apart before my memory's eye.

Tears spilled down my face and I could only be grateful for the fact that I was alone, that no-one would see my shame. My mind was telling me that it wasn't fair to be treated like this by the one I loved. My mind told me that I should get out, while I still could. But, no matter what my mind would tell me, my heart overpowered it with a love that I couldn't dismiss.

I loved Jacob as he loved me. I just had to be careful and sensible with him. I knew that what I did yesterday was stupid, and that I should do everything I could to overcome it.

The vegetable lasagne I had just finished preparing was now sitting on the tray, aching to be cooked. I peeled and cut some potatoes for the meal and put them on another tray. After putting them into the oven, I made my way into the hall and was completely startled by my reflection in the mirror.

My damp hair was sticking up in all wild directions, framing my face with a severe mess. My face itself had a few grazes over my cheekbones and forehead, and my lip was cut and swollen. There was a faint blue bruise on the base of my jaw, and it was obviously just appearing. I looked so tired. I had had about ten hours of unconsciousness, yet that hat no bearing over the exhaustion that was taking my body by storm. I was the most mentally and emotionally tired I had ever been, and I wasn't sure how much I could take.

I felt a fresh wave of angst in the form of water pour out of my eyes as I realised the girl in the mirror was me, and I didn't want to look at her anymore, let alone be her.

I couldn't handle this anymore, and I suppose I was slightly grateful for the ringing of the doorbell. I grabbed an elastic band from the drawer and tried my best to pull my hair into some sort of order. I glanced through the window and saw my next door neighbour, Jasper. I didn't bother quickly applying any make up; Jasper knew of my 'clumsy' tendencies.

I limped to the door, not bothering with the crutch. The quicker I could put this behind me, the better.

Opening the door, I greeted Jasper: "Hey Jazz. What can I do for you?" I tried my hardest to paint a smile onto my face.

"Hey, Bells," He began. "Been in the wars again?"

I ignored his smirk. He hadn't answered my question, but I tried to not that get the better of me. "You know me, Jazz." There was a part of me, just then, that made me feel as if the smile wasn't forced this time. It was real.

Jasper and I had been friends since grade school, although he was in the grade above me. During high school, we drifted away from each other slightly. We still spoke, but rarely made the effort to see each other like we did when we were younger. We never held it against each other though; we still spoke and spent time with each other whenever we could. Since we'd left high school, we ended up at the same college and coincidentally ended up living near each other; this was one of the few coincidences that I actually appreciated.

"Well," I looked down at my arm. "You know me." I smiled up at him, feigning an innocent klutz persona.

He chuckled slightly, "Afraid I do…" I pretended to frown at his statement, but a slight chortle escaped me nonetheless. He continued, "So what happened this time?"

I rolled my eyes—an action that hurt; I'd need more aspirin—and answered, "I fell down the stairs."

"Is that it?" He looked amused yet confused.

"Well, I went to get an icepack from the freezer for my wrist," which I then raised to him, "and then fell over some peas, thwacked my shoulder on the counter, and I'm not too sure about the ankle."

He simply shook his head at me.

"I was just making dinner… You want to come in?" I asked, trying to be courteous despite the pain that really needed resolving.

Jasper smiled and nodded. I held the door open for him to pass and enter, and as I made a quick dash for the bathroom. Once inside, I quickly pulled a brush through my hair and put on a coat of foundation and powder, realising that the bruises would just increase in severity. I opened the cabinet and scrabbled to find some aspirin; I ran the tap on full blast, popped the pill onto my tongue, placed my head under the tap and let the water fill my mouth.

I felt a relief straight away; obviously, the pill hadn't already taken effect, but it was nice to know that it soon would and the pain would subside.

I limped back downstairs to find Jasper in the living room, watching TV. He looked comfortable and didn't notice my presence, so I took that as my cue to sort out the kitchen and put some coffee on.

As I waited for the kettle to heat up, I tried incredibly hard to keep myself dignified. I crossed my arms and gripped at my sides, as if attempting to hold myself together. The click of the kettle seemed to snap me back into a state of awareness, and I slipped out of the reverie I'd planted myself in.

When I came back into the living room, Jasper clicked off the TV, looking up at me. Although I'd known him for some 15 years, I felt the need to clarify, "Tea, milk, two sugars?"

He smiled, "As always."

I decided to make conversation; though I rarely found silences awkward, I knew that others tended to. "So how's your sister?"

"Rose?" He scoffed. "Shallow as ever."

I looked away; though I agreed, I didn't want to be rude. "Oh come on… she's not that bad."

He rolled his eyes. "She cried the other day because someone bought the last Gucci handbag at that store on Main Street before her." He shook his head in what I hoped was mock shame.

"Well," I attempted to compromise. "I suppose I'd be… a bit miffed, too…"

"'A bit miffed'?" He repeated, then scoffed again. "So how're you? How's Jake?"

I felt my stomach do a slight flip at the mention of him, but I tried not to let that register on my face. "Oh, you know. Same old, same old… he's been promoted." I pushed a small smile onto my face.

Jasper raised his eyebrows and mutely nodded. "That explains why he left so early this morning, I take it."

"Yep."

We sat in silence for a moment; it was a silence that seemed to be thick, like the room had been muted rather than it being empty from noise.

It wasn't comfortable.

Luckily, Jasper picked up on this and spoke. "So why didn't you come to me this morning? You know I'll always give you a lift to the hospital if you need one."

I nodded and pulled a sad smile onto my face. "I know, Jazz, and I would have, but I really wasn't thinking straight."

He nodded again, his face serious. "Okay, but in future, I'm always here. I don't want you driving when you're like that."

I rolled my eyes at his paternal tone, but nodded anyway. It was so sweet that Jasper cared about me. I seemed to be overwhelmed that he could and did worry about me so much; so much so, that I felt tears spring down my face. I was too overcome with emotion; it had been a long, tiring day.

"Hey, don't cry, darlin'," Jasper put on a soothing tone and moved to the loveseat where I sat and draped a warm arm around my shoulder. "I was only joking. Come 'ere,"

I lifted my hand to my face and began scrubbing at my face, trying to wipe away the tears. However, I held no effect on them, as from the moment they were removed, they were replaced.

"No, Jazz, I know," My voice came out heightened pitch and cracking. "It's just been an emotional day." My tone soon became a whisper, and I just wanted to lie down and go to sleep. I knew, however, that that was not a possibility.

"Come 'ere," he repeated. Jasper pulled me into a hug and I did briefly enjoy it. Jasper's embrace was so soft and gentle, loving and affectionate that I felt completely safe in that moment. As Jasper continued his soothing motions down my back, I breathed in his heavenly scent subtly, feigning a calming breath—that I needed anyway.

He pulled away and held me at an arm's length: "Are you okay, Bells? You've been a bit off…"

Had my sadness, my fear come through so obviously? Was I that bad an actor? Surely I could just pass this off as being tired, emotionally and physically.

"I'm fine, Jazz," I told him, wiping at the tears. "I'm… just… fed up." I spoke between deep, long breaths, trying to calm myself down.

Jasper pulled me into a tight hug. "What you need, Bella," He looked into my eyes. "Is a good night out."

I quickly shook my head, ignoring the jolt of pain it shot through my shoulder and neck. "No, Jasper. It's fine. Seriously,"

"Bella." His tone was that of a parent. There it was again; Jasper's paternal side came through.

I tried my hardest to match his strict tone. "Jasper."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head; my idea of stern was obviously quite pathetic. "Look, Bells, the guys and I are going out tomorrow night. Em's bringing his sister, Alice Brandon? You knew her, right?"

"Vaguely," I nodded, despite the fact that I knew where this was leading.

"Well, we'll pick you up at seven. Expect to not be home until four in the morning." He smirked.

I opened my mouth to protest, but Jasper silenced me with a finger. "Bells, you're not getting out of this. We'll go easy on you, promise."

I would _not_ be defeated. I wouldn't allow it. "Jasper," I tried the stern tone again. "I'm busy here. I start work tomorrow," I lied. I didn't work, but Jasper didn't know that.

"Work? Where?"

Crap.

"Uh, yes, work. At… McDonalds." I internally groaned. _Great Job, Bella._

Jasper snorted. "Bells, you're a vegetarian. You would never work at McDonalds."

"Vegetarians can work at McDonalds." I compromised.

Jasper shook his head. "Bells, you're coming with us; that's final." He took a long sip from his drink and then set the empty cup on the table. "No more arguments."

"But, Jazz—"

"No 'buts'." And with that, he stood up, pulled up his jeans (which had sunk past his ass since he sat down; Jasper had lost a lot of weight recently and hadn't had a chance to go shopping) and pulled me up.

"Fine, but I won't have fun." I pouted, hoping to put him off bringing me tomorrow.

Jasper rolled his eyes. "You say that now…"

"And I'll say it then." I finished.

For what seemed like the millionth time today, Jasper shook his head and rolled his eyes. He pulled me into another warm hug, whispering into my ear. "Take care, Bells."

I shut my eyes, willing the tears that began to well up in my ears to disappear. "Mm hmm."

"Hold your head high, gorgeous." I couldn't help but giggle slightly at his words, then joined in with the next part: "There are people who would kill to see you fall."

Jasper placed a soft, chaste kiss on my forehead. He was the brother that I never had the pleasure of: he always cared about me; he made me laugh; he was always there when I needed someone or something. Jasper was, in a lot of ways, my rock, my safe house.

"Bye, Bells. Love you."

"Love you too, Jazz. Have a good night."

"You too, darlin'. Now, make sure you have a good night's sleep. You'll need it." He winked.

I snorted: a very un-ladylike action.

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever, Jazz."

"No, seriously. Go put on some loud music, pamper yourself and for the love of god, don't fall down."

I pulled myself back into a happy hug with Jasper. I just couldn't help it; he made me feel so happy. He cheered me up. When I felt composed enough, physically and emotionally, I spoke. "Okay, Jazz, you better get off. I have dinner to make and a self to pamper."

He smiled a tired grin, pulling away, "Okay. Dress up nice for tomorrow though."

I scoured my mental wardrobe for an outfit. "What kind of nice?"

Jasper and I stared at each other, dumbfounded. "You know what?" Jasper broke the pensive silence. "I'll send Rose over."

"You're only doing that to get rid of her for a couple of hours," I murmured, not really caring. I didn't spend my entire childhood with Rose; I could handle her in small doses.

Jasper winked again. "You know me too well." And with that, Jasper shut the door behind him.

After a quick glance in the kitchen, I turned the heat down on the oven and headed upstairs for a shower. I had forty-five minutes until Jake was due home, so I turned the shower radio on full blast and onto my favourite radio station. I sung along with what I knew, and made up what I didn't. For the some twenty minutes I was in the shower, I really enjoyed myself. I felt relaxed and joyful, somewhat unperturbed at the thought of a night out with Jasper and his friends.

I'd find a way to do it. Maybe Jake would have plans anyway, and I would be able to go, unnoticed. There was the possibility that Jake could come too, and I wouldn't get in trouble for lying to him. But, more likely than anything else, I'd just find a way to get out of it. I wouldn't want to get in trouble again this week.

Stepping out of the steamy shower, I wrapped my hair in a towel and dashed through to the bedroom in just a towel. I searched through the wardrobe for something nice to wear that could cover up some of the damage and be worn with a sling. I settled on a purple-grape coloured halter neck dress that came down to my knees—as hard as it was to secure around my neck with one hand.

I slipped on a pair of flats and pulled my hair out of the towel to air dry. Making my way downstairs, I sniffed the air and established that the lasagne was ready to come out of the oven. Luckily, it was neither burnt nor undercooked. I left the dish in the grill to stay warm as I set the table.

For effect, I lit a few candles and filled a vase with some flowers from the garden. I plugged my iPod into the speakers and played some relaxing music. Glancing at the clock, **17:26** blared back at me. _Stuck in traffic,_ I told myself. I decided to utilise this time by fixing my hair and make up, get dinner on the table and crack open a nice bottle of wine.

By the time I was done, and I glanced back up at the clock, it read **17:48**. I was starting to worry. What if he'd gotten in an accident? _Stuck in the office,_ I continued to tell myself.

I sat myself down on the edge of the sofa in the living room, the music from the dining room filling the silence. Constantly eyeing up the phone, I considered phoning Jake. But, what if he was driving? What if he was still in work? I decided against it and started thinking up ways to get out of tomorrow night. I could fake another injury, but knowing Jasper, he'd ask for proof. Many possibilities came into my head, but there was always a way to shoot them down again. In the end, I just grabbed a book from the coffee table and tried to take my mind off of things.

When I next glanced up at the clock, **18:42 **shone back at me in ugly red letters, and I sighed.

Some five minutes back into the book, I heard the phone ring. I jumped to get it, hurting my ankle a little bit (I needed another aspirin). I was suddenly extremely grateful for Caller ID.

"Jake?"

Nothing could have prepared me for what came next. Nothing.

I heard Jacob's distinct voice cry out in pleasure, "Oh, fuck… Rose!" I heard a feminine, tinny, soft tone moan, "Jake… Oh," I heard a pulse of skin slapping against skin and dropped the phone.

I felt my heart break.

Images were stabbing through my head like a dagger I saw a contrast of russet skin slapping repeatedly against a pale perfected form. I shuddered internally at the thought—this image was being burned into my heart through my flesh with a white-hot branding iron.

My heart went numb as soon as the knife was in. I wasn't sure if I was grateful for this, or just completely oblivious. This man, this _thing_… this couldn't be happening. It wasn't Jake, not _my _Jake. Maybe someone had gotten a hold of his phone and was playing some sick, cruel joke on me. Maybe the Caller ID was screwed up slightly. Maybe—

The phone fell to the ground, though I could still hear voices through it. My heart, broken and numb, tore to tinier shreds with every word I heard. At some point, I could hear the man—who despite the obviousness, I refused to believe was Jacob, _my husband_—yell, "Shit!"

I assumed the man realised the phone was on, as his voice got louder. "Bella?"

Liquid hatred spilled down my face mutely. I felt my body start to shake. I couldn't do this. Why should I? Should I be listening to this? I couldn't even breathe properly anymore.

I tried to swallow back some air, but my throat seemed to have stopped working.

"Bella!?"

I ran out of the house and cut across the front lawn to Jasper's house. Admittedly, it was slightly smaller than Jake's and my house, but it was homier. Our house never felt lived in.

I knocked rapidly on the door. "Jasper?" I rang the doorbell. "Jasper!" Knock. "Jazz-!"

He opened the door to me with a worried expression on his face. "Bells? What's up?"

"Where's Rosalie?" I asked, frantically. Not that I knew what I would do once I knew her whereabouts. I certainly wasn't going to confront them.

"Um, she told me she went out with her friends from the store, w-?"

Jasper's words cut off abruptly when he noticed the streams of tears flying down my face despite my impassive face. Emotions flickered across his face: confusion, worry, fear, and then there was the familiar brotherly, almost paternal look that covered his expression. Jasper pulled me into a tight hug, rubbing my back and trying to guide me into his house, yet my feet refused to move, as much as I willed them to.

"Bella, calm down," Jasper's whispers were soothing. "C'mon, let's get you inside."

I nodded weakly, not able to summon the strength to talk. I followed Jasper into the living room, almost a mirror image of ours.

He told me to sit down before he switched off the TV and went to get something to drink.

When he returned, I expected to see a cup of coffee in his hands. Instead, he held a bottle of Russian vodka. I shook my head. "I don't drink." My voice was so small, so quiet, that I hardly heard it myself.

"You do now." His tone finalised the point as he poured me a glass. I stared at the table for a moment, before reaching out and swallowing the glass whole. The taste was harsh, but the affect was numbing. I needed to become stable enough to discuss this. Jasper and I remained silent as we drank.

Twenty minutes and four glasses later, I spoke. "Jasper, I—"

"Bella." Jasper silenced me. "Drink some more."

I shook my head. "I need to tell you this now, before I become completely comatosed."

"More than five glasses of vodka and you're out?" He scoffed. "Lightweight."

"Jasper."

He looked down and mumbled an apology. "Go on."

"He- Jake- He… Rose." Words completely failed me. I couldn't handle this at the moment. I needed another drink. I lifted the glass from the table and gulped down another helping of vodka.

"It's okay, Bells. Take your time."

I nodded, tears staining my face. Another glass. "I finished dinner. It was vegetable lasagne. Didn't burn, for once." I smirked, though it didn't quite reach my eyes. I persisted to stare at the floor for the whole explanation.

"That's nice." Jasper reassured.

"Yeah." I took a moment to continue, the emotion kept flooding back in despite me beating it back down. "I put on some nice music. Lit some candles. Got dressed up."

"Your hair looks nice like that." Jasper commented. I smiled up at him, avoiding any eye contact. I couldn't handle any emotion right now.

"Thanks."

There was a pensive silence. I thought of what I was doing, what I was telling Jasper. Did I really want to tell him? What wouldn't I tell him? Would I tell him about everything last night, the times before?

I shut my eyes, forcing tears down my face. I needed to calm down. Wordlessly, I opened my eyes a fraction—just enough to see—and poured myself another glass. "He was late. In fact, he still hasn't come home."

My voice was detached—it held no inflection or tone; a monotone—as was my mind. I could barely feel, barely see. I was in some kind of fear, shock induced trance. Talking to Jasper had always been easy, right from the beginning of our friendship, but right now, the words couldn't come.

After a bated silence, Jasper rubbed my back and told me to take my time. As my eyes rolled shut, I closed them, ignoring my tears. "I just got a phone call."

Jasper's loose honey coloured tresses bounced as he nodded. I felt safe with Jasper; like I could tell him anything and he wouldn't judge me. Jasper had a calming presence; he held me still and held me _together_ until I found the will to speak again, minutes later.

"I heard… things that… I didn't want to hear. _Private_ things," Once again, my voice and tone were distant; I held no inflection and my voice sounded automated, like a drone.

Jasper's grip tightened around me. I felt protected; not safe, but as if there was some resistance. Something was there to stop the pain from seeping through, exposing my weak self for what I really am.

Tears cruelly spilled down my face with no sign of letting up or remorse. Instead of hiding my shameful display of pain, I let Jasper hold me and soothe me, trusting that he could protect me for a little while longer. So I let them fall. Tears of admittance; I was admitting defeat. Jacob had won; I was giving up at this cruel game of love. Tears of pain; I was pained that I'd been strung along all this time. Tears of embarrassment; I was _embarrassed _to be seen like this: weak, defenceless and needy.

But I could feel nothing. Of course, all these emotions surged through me like lightning bolts, but they passed as quickly as they came. Alcohol numbed me. I liked it.

I grabbed the bottle from the table and poured another glass. I looked at the insignificant amount in the glass compared to the almost double in the bottle, before pulling said bottle to my face and glugging down the lot. Jasper stared at me with wide-eyed disbelief. "I thought," He stuttered. "I thought you don't drink?"

I pulled the bottle away from my mouth, turning up at him with what I can only assume was a dead expression. "It's been a bad day. Sorry. I just… I can't be alone. I'll probably end up shooting myself…" I tried to make light at the end, but because of the drone my voice was trapped in, I sounded far too serious for my liking.

"Bella."

When my gaze was diverted back to his face, I saw his darkened eyes, his clenched jaw and extremely serious persona. "Don't even joke about that."

I pulled a small apologetic smile onto my face and mumbled an apology. For some twenty minutes, I sat there in Jasper's grip, just drinking vodka and telling myself to calm down. I could barely hold myself together, but there was so much to think about.

Could I keep on living with him after this? I was fairly sure that by now, the answer was definitely no, but, what choice did I have? I couldn't continue to burden Jasper like I was; I felt bad enough crashing here for the night. Jasper gave me enough in his company, his friendship; I felt terrible asking for anything.

But Jasper persevered to soothe me and attempted to cheer me up. I drank until my vision doubled up and blurred slightly. Okay, I was a lightweight according to Jasper. I'd never drunk vodka before so I didn't know what was or wasn't considered as 'lightweight'.

Before long, I was slipping in and out of an alcohol induced state of unconscious. I was just drifting off into as deep a sleep as I could manage when there was a knock on the door. As I turned to look up, Jasper stiffened, holding my head still.

I heard two voiced then. They spoke at the same time, different words.

"Bella?"

"Jasper?"

I instantly recognised the voices and the blade-like images came shooting back at me as if they'd never stop, planning to murder me.

I shook my head. I couldn't handle this. I didn't need this. I willed for them to go away. _Please._ "Bella!" _Go._ "Jazz?"

I let out a frustrated scream. I tried to form words but all that spilled out was verbalised anger. As I struggled to my feet, Jasper attempted to hold me down on the sofa, yet the rage that overpowered me in that moment as no match for his restraint.

"Jasper," My voice was eerily calm considering my intense mood. "Get off, now,"

He only tightened his encirclement around me. "Jasper! Please, I don't want to hurt you!"

Okay, I was being hopeful with that statement. Of course, I didn't want to hurt Jasper, but the possibility of me doing so was incredibly slim. If I was honest, the only thing that would end up getting hurt was myself and possibly a vase.

Jasper seemed to heed my bogus warning and loosened his grip on me. I stood up and started to pace up and down the hallway. I didn't quite know what to do, but I wanted to distract my head from my aching heart. As every loving fibre in my body tore apart, my mind was mumbling and murmuring things incoherent and unrelated.

Those devoted threads ripped to nought with every word uttered on the other side of the door. I failed, though try hard as I might, to block out those blades of images that continued to swipe and stab at me.

Whilst I was pacing, Jasper got up and put the door on the latch before opening it. "Yes?"

"Jazzy, let me in." Rosalie's nasal tin of a voice rang.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I heard Jasper murmur.

"For the love of God," I heard the other male voice say. "Let me see my fucking wife!"

I stopped pacing. There was no way I could deny who it was now; all the evidence had just boxed me in and I was stuck. Jacob… and Rosalie…

I nearly fainted.

The others' voiced started to echo as my own thoughts took centre stage.

"_Bella!"_ Jacob's voice rumbled. "Get out here now!"

I needed to obey, else hell would be let loose. Heck, it probably would anyway, but I needed to do something now. I quickly strode to the door, ignoring my only slight limp, only to be stopped by Jasper refusing to move from the door, "Bella, sit down."

"No." My tone was assertive but so quiet that it barely came across.

"Sit down." He repeated, his tone getting more austere.

I threw him a pleading look, which, coupled with another of Jacob's orders, seemed to soften him. His shoulders slumped in defeat and a look of dread fell onto his face.

I stepped out into the dark unseasonable rain and stared at Jake and Rosalie's moonlit faces. I was in some kind of trance; I couldn't hear anything (other than rain) and my vision was blurred with tire and tears.

I was aware of, but I couldn't feel, Jacob grabbing my good arm harshly and tugging on me, trying to pull me across the lawn, but my feet were planted still on the ground.

"Don't… touch me." I shuddered, preparing myself for a step back.

No sooner than this action was completed had Jacob matched my step and defeated it with a stride. His face was inches from mine, and most of that distance was height-related. He looked down at me with wistful eyes as he silently pleaded with me to stay silent about the incident yesterday.

I closed my eyes, enjoying the brief darkness the action took me to. The rain was now hammering so hard that I was almost deafened by it coupled with the stress induced ringing in my ears, but I tried to channel it out and listen to Jake's mumblings.

"Isabella, don't talk to me like that." His tone was stern and finalizing; I knew not to argue.

"Hey!" Jasper, however, had no idea. "Don't _you_ talk to _her_ like that!"

I internally winced at the possible consequences for my insolence. I should have just stayed at home, waited for Jake to get back and we could have discussed this like the adults we are and—

"What did you just say?" asked Jacob, his voice quieter, softer now.

I felt a firm grasp over my shoulders and knew it was Jasper; I sense that protective barrier slip over me again. Jasper Whitlock, the big brother I never had, was trying to protect me from this brute of a life I live. I turned up to him with the intent of throwing a warning glance, but my body betrayed me when I saw how devoted he was to keeping me safe, and I beamed up at him.

"Go inside," I told him in a content whisper. "I'll be fine."

Jasper's eyes were fighting a losing battle. All the pleading looks, all the silent words, wasted. I shrugged vigorously and stepped forwards, away from his grip. "I'll be fine," I repeated, with more gusto this time.

Jacob smirked at Jasper, repeating my phrase as he grabbed my arm and tugged toward him again. "I said don't touch me." He raised an eyebrow at the bold way in which I stated my recollection, seemingly unbelieving the fact that I had just told _him_ to do something.

I took a step backward. I needed to fight my own battle for once; my first battle would be my own, at least. I needed to have some strength right now; today, of all days, was a day wherein I needed to be _strong_. Strong for myself, for my own sanity, I stepped back and shut my eyes. My memory scrammed back to a random conversation I had with my grandma when I was about eight.

"_Bella?" Her withering maternal voice asked. "Look, honey," She pulled me away from her hug and held me at about a foot distance. "Calm down, wipe those tears away," she used her soft, weathered thumb to act out the command on my face. "and close your eyes."_

_I did as she said and descended into darkness._

"_Now, Bells. Forget everything else, just clear your head." Her voice guided me as she encircled her arms around me, forming a tight embrace._

_I did as she told me to. I cleared my head of the pathetic memories that made me cry; I tried to block out the pain that throbbed at my skinned knee. I listened to our breath and synchronised as I calmed._

"_What do you want, right now?"_

_I shook my head._

"_No, come on. Anything that you want, you can have it." She winked at me. "You don't even have to say please."_

_I answered immediately in a clear, sure tone—knowing that with my empty, clean mind, I could do so more accurately and quickly._

"I want to be alone," I voiced my memories to Jasper and Rosalie, and especially Jacob. And with that plead, I stepped past Jacob and began walking aimlessly down the road, tears lost in the rain, not knowing what to do with this hectic mess I called 'my mind', or even where I was going to spend this sodden night.

*******

**There! I seriously forgot how long eight thousand words is. I mean, the first 75% was done in about two days, but the last 2000 took forever to get through. But, here it is. And please enjoy it. **

**This chapter's song was ****Eyes Watering**** by th****e Red Jumpsuit Apparatus****. It's not the most accurate representation of what I want to be happening, but I suppose it's more or less is going through Jacob's head. **

**Thanks, review for me please (:  
~Tasha**


	3. TWO: Winter

**Chapter Two: Winter**

What the _fuck_ was happening to me?

Either my insanity was to stretch to new peaks, or my life had met a junction where I knew not of the direction I should take. I knew that something was wrong, and that I had no influence over that something. I knew that I should have been more aware that _something_ was happening, and I might have actually been more aware than I knew, but my mind seemed to protect me from all those obvious signs.

I wasn't sure about anything anymore.

Watery angst was spilling down my stained cheeks as my feet stumbled along the cobbled street in the darkness. Rain was clouding my vision, making the dark that little bit scarier. The cold was harsh against my skin, but I could hardly notice it; my body was a burning rage that melted the icy droplets as soon as they fell upon me.

I needed to organise my thoughts. For possibly the first time in my life, I had stood up to Jacob, to Jasper, to anyone. I had never been so assertive before.

And I loved it.

I had a strange thrill burning off the rage, like fire versus fire. The kick that was buzzing through me seemed to have me elated, despite the almost horrific day I'd had. There was something about the experience that made me feel as if everything could go back to how it was if I tried hard enough.

My legs were wearing tired, and the limp was becoming evermore painful. I needed to find somewhere to go, to sit down… just for a little while; it wouldn't be giving in.

I spied a lit-up window in the distance, about a hundred yards away, and began to walk toward it. Our houses were in the midst of nowhere; there were many surrounding homes, but the closest thing to civilised town was about two and a half miles away.

I continued to stumble toward the light, remembering that it must be Ricky's diner. I'd walked to Third Street—from Twenty Second? How long had I been out?

I shook my head as I started to see silhouettes form in the window of the diner. I stopped attempting to run and slowed down, letting the much needed air fill my pained lungs. The rain was almost deafening now, and I couldn't hear myself think—not that I really wanted to. I'd hear the constant affirmation of realisation. I'd hear the reason that he'd been 'promoted' and why he had spent so much time away, claiming office work. I'd hear the reason his phone was constantly off.

I didn't want to hear it. I didn't need to.

As the light neared me, I noticed that the blur wasn't fading. With that, I dragged my hand around my eyes in a manner harsh. However, the action may well have been left undone, for the tears sprang back and spilt out again.

The glow from the window was slightly warming, and I revelled at that fact. I quickened my pace again, anxious to get inside. I didn't mind the rain, but I needed to go somewhere _quiet_ enough to organise my mess of a brain.

The sudden heat was almost uncomfortable as I stepped through the stiff door. An ugly yellow light was swatting down on me from panels on the ceiling and the garish red digits on the wall-clock were glaring at me, telling me it was way past my bedtime.

"Hi, ya'll!" A sugar sweet voice came from beside me. I turned around, to find a short girl with risen cheeks and smiley brown eyes. I look about to see who 'ya'll' was referring to. Just me. _Must be force of habit._

"Um, hi," I muttered, searching for a name tag.

"I'm Alice." _Well that clears that up…_

Her voice was so upbeat that I found it hard not to smile at her. On second glance, the waitress was very pretty. She was short, undoubtedly, even with the three or four inches that the generic roller skates added. Her dark, almost black, cropped hair matched the tone of her eyes. Short tresses fell over her face and other locks were flying in wild directions on the top of her head. Shiny, silken strands of hair were framing her square face; she had a perfectly, almost painfully straight nose, and her dark eyes were possibly the biggest, most beautiful things I'd ever seen; she had narrow lips, but her mouth spread into a wide smile. Over her short frame, she wore a black miniskirt, although it actually nearly reached her knees, and a black t-shirt. Also, she has an unstained bright yellow apron wrapped around her waist, making her look more like sunshine.

I realised I must have been staring when she jutted her head forward. I shook myself free from my trance and extended a hand. "Bella." I tried my best, once again, to paint a smile onto my face.

Alice took my hand and shook it as I looked around the room. The walls were panelled in the traditional ice cream parlour blue before meeting a white and black tiled floor. All in all, it was a little too bright for my liking, but I supposed it would keep me awake.

"So, is there anything I can get for ya?" Alice asked me, the smile almost glaring at me.

"Um," I contemplated. "Coffee?"

She smiled a toothy grin at me and glided back to the counter. I sat on a stool, watching as she poured me a cup of coffee. I played with the milk sachet as Alice skittered around behind the counter, putting mugs on their shelves and wiping down the table top.

"Aren't you cold?" She asked me suddenly.

I blinked and shook my head a fraction, trying to regain my composure. She'd broken the almost silence that the room was left in (other than the almost muted music on the stereo). "Um," I glanced at my sodden dress. "A bit."

Alice scoffed. "C'mon, I'll lend you a pair of jeans."

I shook my head at the absurdity. "I only came in for a coffee…"

"And I don't want you to catch your death in those clothes!" She tutted and escaped into a room behind the counter. I raised an eyebrow into the empty room, only to have Alice poke her head through the curtain of the door again. "Well c'mon!"

I smiled shyly and walked around to the opening in the counter. "Really, I'm fine, there's no nee-"

"Nonsense," Alice interrupted. "I should have something in your size here…" She led me into a room at the back with about ten lockers and a bench.

I raised an eyebrow. What kind of diner has staff changing rooms? I ignored the questions in my mind as I was directed to what I assume was Alice's locker. She opened the red door and revealed a colourful array of clothes, strewn on hangers across a pole. I shook my head. This girl obviously liked her clothes. T-shirts and blouses and other such tops were squashed up very tightly on one end, while jeans and skirts were pushing against them on the other. On the floor of her locker, she had several pairs of shoes: a pair of orange flip flops, black flats, red heels, blue Converse, white sneakers and metallic ballet shoes.

"Whoa," I muttered by accident. She had a _lot_ of clothes.

Alice scrutinized me before turning back to the locker. "This should fit you," she told me, handing me a pair of beige Capri pants. After another visual examination, she handed me a white tank top.

I smiled at her. It was as if she actually cared. "Thanks, really."

Alice smiled back. I hesitated before undressing, and she noticed. "There's some underwear in the top drawer." She spoke in a quieter voice now, with discretion, and smiled at me. "I'll be out the front. Leave your clothes on the radiator."

Once again, I smiled at her. She turned away and left the room, to which I used as my cue to look in the drawer. I pulled out what I needed and also grabbed a towel. This girl had everything in her locker. It was probably better stocked than my wardrobe.

I finished slipping on the pants, with some difficulty because of the cast, and looked down at my top. Huh. My bra was sodden. I wasn't going to ruin Alice's clothes by getting them wet, although I felt pretty awkward wearing just her top. It was as if I'd just defaced her clothes. And worse yet, because of the cold and the rain… well, let's just say that I was incredibly cold.

I slipped off my shoes and placed them beneath my clothes on the radiator. It seemed as if I'd be pulling an all-nighter here, or at least until Alice left. I walked back around to the front, careful to cross my arms over my chest.

"I got you a donut," Alice told me with a small smile on here face. She seemed to have toned her eccentric exterior down a little, and her internal characteristics shone through.

"Thanks," I smiled at her. "Seriously, you're too kind," I murmured and looked down.

Alice shrugged. "So," She diverted her eyes from mine, fixing them on a spot of the countertop. "What are you doing out at…" she looked the clock, "two AM?"

Shit. What was I supposed to tell her? I suppose I could tell her that I got in a fight with my boyfriend. That was normal. I'd just leave out the part about Rose. And Jasper.

"Um," I began. "It's complicated…"

"I have time," Alice pressed in her almost whine of a voice.

I shut my eyes, trying to organise my mind. I could do this. Make something up if I needed to…

"Well," I pinched the bridge of my nose before snatching my hand back down to my lap, clasping the cast tightly. "I couldn't stay at home." I paused, but Alice wanted me to continue sooner rather than later.

"Why?"

I smiled at her. She seemed like she cared, but that was probably just her job. "My husband." I answered simply, hoping that I wouldn't have to go into detail. Maybe she'd think I was the one who was… no. I don't even look like the type.

Alice rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, Bella." They way she said her name with such a casualty was almost startling. She was treating me the way that I would treat only very close friends. This Alice must be very overbearing at times…

"What about him?" She finished, eager.

I hesitated before I answered, "Um, he was late home from work and I got a call from him."

I didn't want to retell this story. I hated having to live it through the first time, and I was still a long way off from the road to recovering from the event, so I can only imagine the strain reliving it all could bestow.

Urgh.

I just wanted to get to sleep now. I seriously, couldn't be fucked to tell the story all over again, but I persevered. I told her what I heard on the phone, and I phased from being the numb, detached being that I was into a teary eyed, emotional wreck that overtook me by the end of the conversation.

At some point, Alice came over to my side of the counter and wrapped a friendly arm around me. I wasn't sure if I should have trusted it or not. Everyone who I had found a way to trust before had somehow found a way to betray said trust. Why should she be any different?

But, before I could object, the full force of my evening slammed into me. I lost my breath and found it hard to do anything other than cry. I couldn't. So, I just sank unto Alice, praying that something good would come along soon, just muttering 'why's and 'how's.

*******

At some point during my emotional breakdown, I fell into a slumber. I half expected to be woken up by Alice, to be turfed out.

But, awoken, I rubbed my eyes and felt my rough tear stained cheeks. As my gaze wandered around the room, my mind registered that there was no one else here. The lights were still on; someone must be here, maybe in the kitchen.

I wandered around the dining area aimlessly, inspecting the cracks and wearing in the faux leather of the chairs. The place was eerily empty, making me geel slightly uneasy, uncomfortable even.

As I neared the opening for the kitchen, a bright white light blazed through. There was Alice, tottering around in her yellow apron, carrying with her, toward me, two small plates and cups.

"Hi," She said in a small voice. I suppose five in the morning does that to you. "I thought you'd like some breakfast."

I smiled politely back at her. "Thanks, really," My tone was what I hoped was sincere. "But you really shouldn't have. I didn't even bring any money…"

The waitress scoffed. "Bella," She said sternly. "Don't worry. Now eat up."

She laid down the plate of toast, bacon and eggs. I hadn't had a proper breakfast in over a year, usually settling on eating a granola bar on the way to the store. The food was extremely hot as it slid down my raspy throat, although that was partially my fault; I should have been prepared.

I could sense a tension in the air. I assumed that Alice wanted to talk about something or other, not being quite as comfortable with silence as I was. So I spoke to her. We chatted absently about the upcoming holidays. She told me about a dress that she saw in some shop or another, and that she'd be spending Christmas with her brother. I told her that I didn't quite know what I'd be doing, but it would most likely entail Jasper.

Alice asked about him. She had repeated, "Jasper?"

"Yeah," I nodded slowly. "He's my next door neighbour," there was a pensive pause. "And he's my best friend, too."

Alice smiled at me, her risen cheeks looking curious. "Tell me about him."

My cheeks tinted a slight red for some unknown reason as I began to describe Jasper. "Well," I needed to find my words. "He's my age: I met him in school when I moved up here." Alice quirked an eyebrow, so I explained. "I used to live in Phoenix, but I moved up here when I was about five." I made a hand movement, trying to dismiss the topic. "Anyway, he's probably the best friend I've ever had. He really cares about me, and I care about him."

Alice smiled at me, so I continued. "I really don't know what I would do without him. He's like a brother to me."

Proud with the summary of one of the most important men in my life, I smiled a small, smug grin. Alice continued to ask about him, and my other friends. At one point, we touched on Rosalie. I didn't really want to discuss her. Nonetheless, I explained that she was Jasper's twin sister, although they're nothing alike, and I clarified my reluctance over discussing her in the briefest detail I could.

When six o' clock eventually rolled around, people were seeping in for their breakfast before work. Another girl in a similar uniform to Alice's came in, her long dark hair tied back on the top of her head. I never caught much more than a glimpse of her face, but when she did turn in my direction, she wore a toothy smile and her full pouty lips stretched over her face. I always smiled back at her, shyly.

Alice told me that the waitress's name was Kate. "And," she was talking to me in between serving other customers. "She's a real fucking bitch."

I quirked an eyebrow; the girl seemed nice enough to me. Maybe she and Alice had a bad past. "Oh," was all I said on that matter, before I changed the subject.

"What time do you get off work?" I had realised that she must've been here all night.

Alice pursed her lips for a brief second. "About twenty minutes ago." I quirked an eyebrow. "Night shift, been here since ten."

I nodded slowly; why hadn't she gone to get changed yet? She'd finished her shift, so she should have started to at least get ready to leave, not continue to serve these people. The poor girl needed sleep.

"I never finish on time. Poor Kate can't cope on her own." She added the latter in a sugar coated nasal whine, obviously not caring for her at all.

I nodded at her. "If there's anyway I can help…" I half-offered, fairly sure there was nothing I could do without actually getting a job here. And that definitely wasn't an option; Jake needed me to stay at home while he was at—

Oh.

The simple fact that I had just _thought_ his name was enough to make me lock up. My shoulders stiffened into a position that made me look like I left the hanger in my shirt.

This realisation meant that I was free. It meant that I was fine to do what I

The realisation stung, despite the confused euphoria that I was soon tumbling towards. It was so blindingly obvious that I felt a little embarrassed for not getting it before.

_I wasn't going home to Jake tonight._

*******

The tight, smug grin was hard to wipe from my face as I glided around in a yellow apron, swiping empty cups from the table. I'd just got my first job since babysitting when I was fourteen.

Which was a total farce; I never really did anything with the baby, other than throw a hissy fit when she woke up. I had no experience with kids before that, so I didn't know what to do. Much to my pleasure, she was a very placid baby, which occasionally worried me. But it did mean that I didn't have much to do. So I spent my time at that house reading and watching Will & Grace on my iPod.

So when Alice told me that I could cover for Gianna, another waitress who allegedly phoned in sick, I was both elated and worried: anxious for the fact that I'd never done a day's work in my life, but jubilant at the independence that it offered me

There was always my conscience nibbling away at the happiness I'd built up over the last couple of hours or so, though. Something was telling me that I was too happy, given my circumstances. I shook my head inwardly at the accusation and concentrated on not falling with my too-small roller skates.

I glanced up at the clock; I was off-shift in an hour and a half. The flow of people coming in and out of the diner was wearing thin after the breakfast rush. For the moment, I was comfortable with where I was right now. As I scrubbed at the stains on the table, I did let my mind wander slowly. I didn't want to dwell on _that_ anymore, so I thought about the little things: what were today's specials again? Was that Jasper's cousin at table four? Looks like him; same hair… I'll go take his order.

As I neared the guy, I noted that he _definitely_ had the same hair. The hair was something unique about the guy, It constantly looked like the dye was coming out. The locks were brown with a blond tinge; in the right light, it would glow a beautiful coppery colour. The disarray of tresses was constantly a mess and rarely looked like anything had been done to it, except that time I braided it.

Approaching the table, I attempted an aura of anonymity and negligence to attention. I murmured in a "distracted" voice if I could take his order?

I never made eye contact with him, but I noticed through my peripherals (I was glaring down at my notepad passionately) his emerald eyes boring up at my face.

Blushing slightly under the scrutiny, I lifted my gaze, "Sir?"

He opened his mouth, snapped his gaze down to the menu again and pointed to a dish and asked if it came with onions.

Obviously, being new here, I didn't know and told him I'd go and ask. I went and met Katie behind the counter. I asked, but paid no attention to the answer; instead, my hearing seemed to fuzz up and the only thing I could manage to do was pore over the man at the table as he looked down at the menu. By now, I was about 75 percent sure it was Jazz's cousin.

It was those eyes that were telling me the most, but other than that, there was his chiselled jaw, his straight nose with the little kink below the bridge, the fact that his eyebrows looked almost plucked…

I was brought tumbling back to earth by Kate, snapping her fingers and calling my name. It was all a little cheesy-movie-esque, but her voice seemed to echo in and my vision seemed to fade back, allowing me to concentrate on something other than the possible stranger before me.

In a monotone, I asked, "What? Sorry, could you repeat that…"

Kate told me the specials, the allergy and customer advice about the menu and the special deal about something or other again, and suggested that when I had a moment, to write it in the back of the notebook.

I nodded, and headed back to table four.

Without thinking, I spoke.

I spoke to his face, looking into his vibrant green eyes, distracted and mildly amused at my own stupidity. Of_ course_ it was him. It was so obviously him; no one else had hair like that, no one else had those odd hands with the long (mildly femininely) long fingers, and still maintained his masculinity. In my opinion, anyway.

"So, what can I get you, Edward?"

*******

**Fuck it; I can't be arsed with length no more. No matter. I think we'd all prefer quicker updates, huh?  
Any questions, queries, qualms (that's a lot of 'q's?) or comments, please, please review. It's like love.  
This chapter's song was **_**Winter**_** by **_**Joshua Radin**_**. Different sorta song, but generally I think the mood fits in here.  
There is a lot more build up I want to do about Jacob and Bella's past together; Jake's not all that bad you know. He just had a bad upbringing. Then again, they said the same about Hitler. But yeah, I'm going to do some more development on Bella and Jacob. I'd like to state now that I'm not anti-jake, I love him as much as the next random fangirl. BUT, I needed a bad guy for the story. **

**PEACE & LOVE,  
~TASHA.x**


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